The Sexiest Mayor Alive Gets a Plus One and Other Tales from Season 5
by SandraDeee
Summary: Oliver Queen has been a playboy, a castaway, vigilante, CEO, and now mayor. His most unimaginable role yet? Being named People's Sexiest Man Alive. He may be the fantasy of countless women, but there's only one woman he longs to hold, and he is determined to win her back. Related snapshots of Season 5 as Oliver and Felicity navigate their partnership, lives, and lingering feelings.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** So I have absolutely been obsessed with RHODES's album, Wishes. Just...ah. If you have the chance to listen to it, it is absolutely the most beautiful, poetic, sensual, emotional album, and so many of the songs remind me of Oliver and Felicity. In fact, each part of this story is inspired by a song from the album. All the parts will tie together to tell a story of rebuilding trust, finding acceptance, overcoming obstacles, and reclaiming love with season 5 as a backdrop. Obviously, season 5 hasn't begun airing yet, so anything that I mention as happening is just conjecture based on the dabbles of spoilers that have been released about season 5.

Musical inspiration for this chapter is "Intro" by RHODES. Check it out!

Obviously, as a **DISCLAIMER,** I should mention that all publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

This first part is rated (a light) T, but ratings will vary by installment.

And before you ask, chapter 15 of _All in a Day's Work_ is written and will be posted soon. :)

* * *

 **Part One: The Sexiest Mayor Alive Gets a Plus One**

Oliver Queen had faced obstacles all his life, some trivial, some life-or-death. From convincing his dad when he was sixteen that he _needed_ that Porsche to surviving purgatory itself in his early to mid twenties to facing down Ra's al Ghul on the top of a mountain, he had seen every challenge imaginable. Very little surprised him anymore, but this morning, he was absolutely flabbergasted. There it was in glossy newness staring him in the face. Hell, he was staring at his _own_ face. _People_ Magazine. Bold, yellow letters. Oliver Queen: Sexiest Man Alive.

Ten years ago, he would have gotten a kick out of the "honor" and enjoyed the attention—particularly from the female population—that it afforded him. With that type of publicity, he could be in the middle of the desert and not have a dry spell. Now? It was making his morning inconvenient, to say the least.

Local television reporters had been waiting for him when he got to city hall:

 _"Will this be a distraction from the work at hand, Mayor Queen?"_ Randall Kolby asked as he shoved a microphone in Oliver's face as he tried to make it to his office.

 _"Only if the media makes it into one,"_ was his clipped reply. He was sure he'd be hearing about that from Stella Sinclair, the political advisor the board of aldermen hired to ease Oliver into his role as mayor.

His assistant Daphne, who had managed to outlast (read: survive) several mayoral administrations, was on the brink of quitting because she was so frazzled.

 _"Mr. Queen, the phone hasn't stopped ringing since I got here. I can't hear myself think, and I've not even had my first cup of coffee!"_

Oliver remembered all too well from Felicity how truly dangerous it was to face the day without proper caffeination, so he made his way to the break room to brew a cup for Daphne in the community Keurig as a peace offering. Daphne accepted the truce, at least until lunch time.

Then there was the city government's public relations firm, which wanted to know why Oliver wasn't going through proper channels (i.e. them) for publicity.

 _"This doesn't buy you any political capital, Mayor Queen, and it detracts from the dignity of the office of mayor."_

 _"Right. Because I_ campaigned _to be the Sexiest Mayor Alive."_

How was he supposed to do his job as mayor if the phone lines were being overrun from reporters, annoyed aldermen, and ardent female constituents and even a few male ones? More than that, how was he going to conceal his identity as the Green Arrow if he was under constant scrutiny and surveillance?

He squeezed the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on.

He needed to leave the circus behind and focus on the matters at hand, namely, Star City was in trouble financially. No shock there. They had faced three "terrorist" attacks in three years. Even with Team Arrow working to shut down the crime syndicates and even petty crimes, the city's reputation was tarnished. Several companies looking to expand into Star City decided against it. Insurance premiums would be too high, they argued. A number of citizens were abandoning the city in favor of greener pastures.

Immediately upon becoming mayor, Oliver had asked every city department head to submit a "state of the department" report to him. The results had been less than encouraging. Sanitation had already spent the entire year's budget and then some. Funny how battles on the street, riots, and looting tended to make messes. If they were going to continue to provide basic services, like residential and business trash pickup, Oliver needed to find more money somewhere. One of the aldermen reminded him that they could raise taxes and earmark the revenue for particular ventures, but Oliver was not receptive. The people of Star City had already suffered enough.

Then there was the issue with the city's police force being seriously depleted. In the police commissioner's report, he noted the mortality rate amongst police officer's nationwide was 0.0049%. In Star City, that rate was astronomically higher in comparison at 5.5%. That did not take into consideration the many job-related injuries the Star City PD incurred. As a result, many of the ones who were still able-bodied were quitting in droves, which in turn, made the already diminished force become spread that much thinner and made their jobs that much more difficult.

Oliver was also responsible for interviewing job candidates for an interim district attorney until an election could take place. That one stung the most. He shook his head. _Laurel._ From the time they were just kids, Laurel was always so determined to make a difference. How many times had he scoffed at the idea that she was trying to save the world? What was it she always told Tommy and him? "No man is an island. We all have to do our parts." It took going to an island for Oliver to realize she was right, even if his brand of justice wasn't what she had in mind.

A knock on the office door interrupted his thoughts. Probably Daphne with the files he asked her to pull. With the phone calls she was fielding, he had closed the door to get some peace and quiet. "Come in," he called absentmindedly, returning his attention to the report before him.

He heard the familiar cadence of high heels. "You look busy."

 _Definitely not Daphne._

His heart leapt in his chest. In the two weeks since he took the oath of office, he had seen her, but it was always after hours at his other job, never in the light of day. Their conversations focused on Team Arrow business and filling the voids left by their team members.

He sucked in a breath as he drank her in. Just her presence was enough to make the tension in his shoulders begin to ebb. Today, her blonde hair was pulled back into its customary high ponytail, and her full lips were a bright pink. His first instinct when he saw her was still to greet her with a kiss, to run his fingers through her silky blonde tresses. He thought back to the last time they kissed. If only he'd known then that their kisses were numbered and they wouldn't have the rest of their lives together, maybe he would have savored them more.

"Never too busy for an old friend, Felicity." He stood to greet her, but as soon as he did, he was uncertain what was appropriate given their situation. Shaking hands with her? That didn't seem right. Kissing her on the cheek? Was that too much? However, she was carrying a potted plant, which helped make the decision for him. "May I?" he asked, indicating the plant.

"Yes, please." She handed it over to him, and he caught her scent as he walked past her. If freshness and light could be translated into a scent, it would smell like Felicity.

"It's time to break the curse of the mayor's office."

"Since when do you believe in curses?" he asked.

"After everything you've seen, you don't? Consider the plant an office warming gift. I really meant to get over here sooner, I just…" Her voice trailed off before she added, "Anway, I thought this place could use a little life since everything that comes out is cold and dead." Her eyes widened in horror at the realization of what she'd just said. "Not that I'm saying that's going to happen to you. You've defied the odds thus far. Mostly."

He had missed this. For a time after their breakup, she said as little as possible to him. Then when she did speak, it was passive aggressive. This was…this was the Felicity he remembered before everything. This was his friend. "Two weeks and counting as mayor."

She straightened her glasses. "I should have gotten you one of those display boards that keeps a count of days without incident. 'Fourteen days as mayor without workplace injuries, masked gunmen, or maniacal villains.' But…yeah. I went with a plant."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you're worried about me," he teased. Upon seeing her eyes flicker, he stiffened. Was that too much? He breathed out a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding. He needed to relax, not second-guess every word, every movement. She was just important.

"If anyone can take care of himself, it's you, but I'd prefer to not have you die on me again. You've already met your quota."

He briefly glimpsed the haunted look on her face. They hadn't known each other when the Queen's Gambit went down, but by the time he left to fight Ra's, Felicity had become his everything, and she had believed him to be dead. She had lived with that belief for months. Then he came back to her only to leave again and effectively 'kill' Oliver to become Al Sahim, all without telling her his plan.

It was his secrecy that eventually broke them. He lost her trust and lost his son for parts unknown in one fell swoop.

He wished he had a redo, but there was no such thing. All he could do was move forward.

"Thank you. For the plant, I mean." He studied the foliage. The leaves were shaped like arrowheads, dark green with large, protruding white veins running through them. _Light in the darkness_ , he thought. How fitting. "It's not a fern. This is…?"

"It's alocasia. Her nickname is Polly."

"Polly? You've named it?"

She shrugged. "I saw an episode of Mythbusters where they tested whether talking to plants will help them grow. Turns out, it does. The kicker is, the plants don't really care if you're nice to them. They just like to be talked to."

"I promise to only say nice things to her," he assured her.

"Your assistant is going to love that I've brought something else for her to do." The poor woman had seemed overwhelmed when Felicity had come through. Fielding phone calls, putting people on hold, she mouthed her apologies as she waved Felicity on back to see Oliver. It was helpful that Oliver evidently established that she had a standing appointment. "Polly isn't like the fern, low light, low maintenance. She requires more care to make her grow. She needs light and just the right amount of moisture. Not too much or she gets overwhelmed. Too little, and she will wither away."

"Felicity, _I'll_ take care of her. I promise."

His words hung in the air between them, and he could see the sharp intake of breath. Her blue eyes sought his, the expression within them a mirror of his own. Endless longing.

 _Take me home._

 _Take my love._

 _Take my soul. It's wrapped in yours._

She finally broke eye contact with him, turning away and looking at the bookshelf. Nothing too personal there, except for a small framed photo of a younger Oliver with Thea, his mom, and his dad. "So my phone has been ringing off the hook. Well, if cell phones had hooks."

"Job offers?" Oliver knew that since being ousted as the CEO of Palmer Technologies, Felicity had been weighing different options. She didn't actually need to work, but she was itching to do something—something that used her skills in a meaningful way. Her work as Overwatch helped to lessen the blow, but she was mostly limited to the night hours, not using her talents in the light of day.

"Not exactly. Reporters and gossip magazines have been calling wanting to know about us. Oh, and I think I saw someone from TMZ outside our place. My place. Outside my place."

Oliver grimaced, partly from the news that she was being harassed, partly from the reminder that they no longer shared a space and barely shared a friendship. "I'm sorry. I wish People had never included me in that list."

"Look on the bright side. You can frame the magazine next to your Star City Man of the Year award."

He groaned. "This is not a prize. Have you…have you read the article?"

She pressed her lips together before answering, "Not yet. But it's a nice cover."

"It's Photoshopped. I don't look like that."

"Actually, you do. Your face is perf—" She cut herself off, her cheeks reddening ever so slightly.

"Look, I'm glad you're here. I was going to call you."

"Oh?"

"The Star City Women's Auxiliary Club is holding its annual fundraiser gala next Saturday. I'm scheduled to be the keynote speaker."

"Hmmm. That's ironic." He looked at her in confusion. "Well, you're a man. Obviously." She grabbed the magazine from his desk and held it up. "Sexiest man alive. Yay."

He retrieved the magazine and placed it on the desk, face down. "I was wondering if you would be my plus one."

"Oh." She took a step forward. "I thought maybe you were going to tell me to take the night off from Overwatch duties."

"Technically it would be a night off from that. Only, you'd be spending your night off with me. And by spending the night, I don't mean…"

"I know what you mean," she cut in quickly. She licked her lips, her tongue flitting out in that way he loved. "Oliver, we shouldn't blur the lines. You're my partner." She stopped and took a deep breath and considered her words. "My after hours work partner," she clarified, "not my life partner." She looked up at the coffered ceiling of the office. "And I'm doing it, too."

He tried to put her at ease, to salvage _something_. "It's a political function, Felicity, not a romantic date."

She nodded. "And you need someone to run interference."

"I…" He hadn't thought of it that way. "…suppose." No, not run interference. To share in his life with him. But he thought she was about to dart as it was; he didn't want to risk overwhelming her.

"Have you thought about asking someone else?" She tilted her head, chewing the inside of her cheek, nervous for his response.

He took a step toward her. "Do you want me to ask someone else?"

It was a loaded question. He knew it.

"I see the way women look at you. I want you to be happy, to finally find happiness. Maybe it's time to move on."

Oliver had to stifle back a harsh laugh. He had found happiness. Literally. _Felicity_ meant _happiness_ , and she was his happiness. Didn't she know she was under his skin, etched more deeply, more permanently than even the tattoos that peppered his body?

"Do you want to see someone else?" His voice was low, barely above a whisper.

How was he going to fade away if she did? Would he be able to stand by and watch her with another man, to build a life with someone else, the life he wanted?

He would have to. If she wanted another man, he would find a way to do it, if that was going to make her happy.

She didn't answer except to say, "I'll be your plus one."


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two: The Mayor's Plus One Gets Jealous**

inspiration for this chapter: watch?v=IPv4urVno8M

Stella Sinclair liked to think of herself as a dynamo. Move. Shift. Finesse. It was what she did to people—expertly, might she add. The people around her were pieces of a mechanism sliding into place, creating energy of _her_ own making, _her_ own choosing. However, she was quickly learning that if she was the dynamo, then Oliver Queen was the mountain; the man didn't want to be moved. And dammit if she didn't have a weakness for stubborn men.

"You need to not make an enemy of the press."

Oliver leaned back in his office chair, the leather creaking slightly as he shifted. He was no stranger to dealing with the media. From the time he was underage and proudly club hopping with Tommy Merlyn to his return from his five-year excursion to hell, he knew what it was like to have cameras shoved in his face, to be probed with questions and insinuations.

"Stella, how long have you been a political consultant?"

A huff of exasperation fell from her red lips. "Oliver, my credentials aren't in question."

"Humor me."

"Six years."

"I've been in the public eye all my life."

"Yes, and that's why I'm shocked you aren't more savvy. For someone as charming as you are—" She was met with a peculiar stare. "—you certainly aren't utilizing that charm like you should. Alienating Randall Kolby is not what you want to do if you plan on being mayor on more than an interim basis. And quite frankly, there aren't many people out there with your keen ability to dodge death despite your constant exposure to danger."

"I work out," Oliver deadpanned.

"Obviously," Stella replied with a smirk.

"Randall Kolby should have a thick skin by now. If telling him that he's getting in the way of me doing my job hurts his feelings, that's not my problem."

"I'm paid to advise you, so let me do _my_ job. Learn how to use the media to your advantage. Turn around the question, or sidestep it to discuss something that matters to you. Never straight up shut them down. Not when you're mayor and you need the local press."

"Noted."

"Let's practice."

"Mayor Queen, Felicity Smoak was recently spotted going into your office at City Hall. Are the two of you back together?"

"That's none of your business."

"Ehhhhhh," Stella replied, imitating a buzzer. "Wrong answer."

Oliver bristled. "What does my relationship with Felicity have to do with my performance as mayor?"

"People want to feel a connection to their mayor. They want to be able to relate to you. That means sometimes you will get questions about your private life, especially considering you previously put your private life on display when you proposed to Ms. Smoak in front of a crowd of people. Since a deranged serial killer crashed your wedding and you've still not married—not even an elopement—that only intensifies speculation."

" _Totally relatable."_ Oliver could almost hear Felicity's voice in his head.

Stella added, "And let's not forget that you're _People_ 's Sexiest Man Alive. That tends to make folks even more curious."

 _That_ again.

If he were a Hollywood pretty boy, it would probably be flattering, but in the last week, the 'honor' had done nothing but cause trouble. 'Mayor Handsome,' they were calling him. And if Felicity had read the article—which he guessed she had by now, even if she didn't say anything about it during their night job—it likely did little to help his cause with her.

"Felicity didn't sign up to be part of the public eye. I am not going to discuss her."

"Then do what I told you to do. Sidestep. Turn it around to something you _do_ want to discuss. Let's try again."

Oliver glowered.

" _Mayor_ Queen, Felicity Smoak was spotted going into your office at City Hall earlier this week. Are the two of you back together?"

"With the many challenges our city is facing, surely there are more relevant issues related to the happenings at City Hall that you want to discuss. For instance, the proposal that Councilman Anders is making to reallocate funds to the harbor cleanup efforts."

"Much better."

* * *

Was it morbid to keep the Black Canary suit on display in the lair? Perhaps, but the topic of its removal wasn't a conversation Felicity was ready to have with Oliver. Sometimes when she saw it, along with John's and Thea's suits, she would pretend that they were all coming back and their absences were just temporary. It was a lovely thought, one that made her feel warm inside and long for days past. Then she'd remind herself that one of the worst things she could do was lie to herself, and the cold would seep back in.

But Felicity was starting to think they were fumbling through Death's caresses. No more pretending that they were invincible when it was so incredibly apparent that they were anything but invincible, and their actions had consequences.

Still, when she saw the news report that Mayor Queen recommended the hiring of Adrian Chase as the new D.A., it stung. Laurel wasn't coming back; Felicity knew this, but she also didn't want her friend's legacy to be erased or relegated to being just one in a series of district attorneys who met an unfortunate end.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard Oliver's sure footsteps on the metal stairs of the command center at the heart of the lair. With practiced ease, he set his bow in its display case. That was her cue to start packing up for the night.

She turned in her chair. "I saw the new D.A. announced on the news. He seems—"

"Very different from Laurel."

"I was thinking _determined_ , but there is that. Must've been hard."

Oliver looked wistful. "Had to be done. He has a good résumé, which is more than I can say for some that applied."

"The good ones aren't all exactly lining up to come to Star City," Felicity pointed out.

"I hope we can change that. Things have been…hectic out there."

"I heard." From her position at the computers and through the comm, she knew all too well that Oliver had his hands full. It wasn't that he was necessarily coming against someone he couldn't handle, but the sheer numbers of criminals prowling the streets of Star City were daunting. Truth was, he couldn't be everywhere at once. She just hoped the same issues that plagued his tenure as CEO of Queen Consolidated would not prematurely end his political career before he had the chance to effect change. She pursed her lips, unsure whether to broach the subject of Oliver burning both ends of the proverbial candle. What they really needed was help—more than what Curtis could offer, as much as she liked him. Whether Oliver wanted to admit it, he wouldn't be able to do this in perpetuity.

"I think I'll be able to work with Chase."

"As the Green Arrow or in your day job?"

"Both, I hope. I don't think he can be corrupted."

"Bright and shiny like a penny." Felicity murmured, "I wonder if they have vigilantes where he comes from." She grabbed her purse, pulling out her car keys.

"You heading home?"

"Mmmhmmm."

"Let me walk you out?"

"That might be a bit…conspicuous," she replied pointing to his green leather.

"Give me two minutes." He disappeared into the adjacent bathroom. In less than two minutes, he emerged wearing a charcoal colored henley and dark cargo pants.

 _You always could get undressed quickly when motivated._

At that, Oliver chuckled softly.

"Oh." Felicity shook her head, as though she was doing a reboot of herself. "I said that aloud. You know me. My brain to mouth filter is just on hiatus. Seems like…permanently."

"You getting enough sleep?" Oliver asked as they entered the elevator.

Sleep? What was that? When she closed her eyes in the stillness of the night, all she could see were the news reports from the aftermath of the attack on Havenrock. Interviews with family members who lost loved ones, children without parents… And she'd done it to them. A flew flicks of the wrist, the pressing of keys, playing God… "No, and neither are you, so no lectures."

"What's going on?"

"It's late, Oliver," she said as they stepped out of the elevator and walked through the old campaign office. The exterior door locked behind them, and the two ambled to her car, which she unlocked remotely.

He opened the door for her, and she started to get inside, but his hand on hers stilled her movements. "Hey. What happened, it's on Darhk, not on you."

She said nothing. This argument had no winners. There was no absolution to be found.

He recognized the resignation, fought the urge to caress her worries away as he had done in the past, but their truce was tenuous. The strands that held them together were worn thin and stretched tightly. They were pulling in different directions, and if he tugged too tightly, eventually they would break.

A gentle squeeze. That was all he could give. It was all she would accept.

And then he let go, and she got in the car. It occurred to him that was acceptance of a different sort, a small step. Perhaps.

"Tomorrow night…" he began.

"I haven't forgotten," she replied, grateful for a change in topic. "Is your speech ready?"

"Stella's been coaching me."

She quirked her head. "Stella?"

* * *

He followed her home that night to make sure she arrived safely, though he kept his distance. He wondered if she knew he was there from the way Felicity lingered at the entrance to the building, pausing as she looked out into the night.

 _I'm here_. _I'll always be here however you need me. It's a mortal lock._

But she went inside, closing the door behind her, shutting him out. Tomorrow they would start the cycle all over again, a _Groundhog Day_ in the flesh.

There was so much he wished he could do differently. The regrets ate at him, another demon bearing down on his soul. In some ways, it would be kinder to break those strands that connected them. She had, after all, asked him to let her go. But they were on the edge of … something … and he didn't know how to fix them, how to fix _himself_ , what was broken inside.

* * *

The crowd of people swirled around them and all could think was he missed her.

The thought came in a wave of emotion, hitting him as it sometimes did, when he least expected it. Usually it was when he wanted to share something with her that happened that day, or he saw something that he thought she would like.

Tonight she stood next to him, but the distance between them may as well be wider than the widest seas. Those instincts—to reach out, to touch the small of her back, to brush away an errant curl from her cheek—were ignored in favor of distant cordiality. They had become polite strangers, avoiding conversation of any consequence.

But he noticed immediately when they met in the lobby of the planetarium where the gala was being held that she was wearing green, something she never did while they were together. Wrapped in his color, maybe some part of her was wrapped in him yet.

It gave Oliver a twinge of hope, hope that carried him later as he stood behind the lectern, addressing members of the Ladies Auxiliary Club on ways that they can effect positive change in the city. He looked out at the crowd and could see her among the partygoers, looking on with an expression of pride. The sea of faces blurred, and it was Felicity alone that he saw, as though a special spotlight shone just on her.

It was a practiced speech, and Oliver executed it flawlessly.

When he received his Man of the Year Award a few minutes later, it was still Felicity's face he sought. She clapped her hands and smiled, but there was a tinge of sadness mingling with the pride.

" _We have to let each other go."_

She had said the words in the bunker what felt a million years ago, though their resonance echoed into the present.

It wasn't what he wanted, but he always had been a selfish bastard. The fact that he'd asked her to accompany him proved that. He had wanted her help navigating the shark-infested waters, but he would drown her.

 _We have to let each other go._

But he still didn't know how.

* * *

"He is charismatic," a woman standing near Felicity said appreciatively as Oliver left the stage. From her tone, Felicity was certain that Oliver's speech wasn't the only thing that had sparked the woman's interest. The woman was stunning—tall, slender, with dark hair, green eyes and bright red lips.

Her red-headed friend added, "And if the size of his hands is any indication, his package is…" She waggled her eyebrows suggestively, and the brunette who stood with her licked her lips.

 _Ugh._

"Sexiest Man Alive indeed," the brunette said with a sigh. "I intend to find out if the adage is true because it would be a shame to let _that_ package go to waste."

"Are you having any success?" the red-head asked.

"I'm working on it."

Felicity was about to say something to the women—she was vacillating between confirming that yes, Oliver's package is amazing and gloating they'd never find out firsthand or scolding them for their superficiality and missing the importance of his message—when she reminded herself that Oliver wasn't her concern anymore. He was a handsome man, unfairly so, and time had only served to enhance those physical traits. Women were naturally going to notice that. It was just too bad they couldn't see beyond the surface to know the sacrifices Oliver had made for the city. She didn't always agree with his methods or some of the choices he had made, but she never questioned his motives and devotion.

When he came off the stage, he headed toward her, his eyes hopeful.

"You did great," she immediately assured him before he even got the question out of his mouth.

"Thanks. It was good to see a friendly face in the crowd."

"Oh, I'd say you have plenty of people here who would be happy to be your friend."

He looked at her quizzically, but she didn't meet his gaze, instead looking at the small plaque he held. "And I'm glad to see you get recognized for the good you've done around here."

"There are people a lot more deserving than me."

"And the fact that you'd say that and believe it is what makes _you_ deserving," she reiterated, lightly patting his shoulder. Realizing the contact she was making, she broke away and cleared her throat. "So I guess the coaching went well."

"Speaking of, there's someone I want you to meet," Oliver said tilting his head toward the same brunette who, unbeknownst to him, had just been ogling him along with her friend. Felicity's Jimmy Choos felt rooted to the mezzanine like the roots of a tree. Seriously? "Come on," Oliver said in pantomime. Wordlessly, she followed, hoping her brain-to-mouth filter wouldn't spectacularly fail. "Felicity, this is Stella Sinclair. Stella is my political advisor and has been helping me acclimate to my new job. Stella, this is my…" Oliver faltered slightly, not really sure how to describe Felicity, before settling on, "my friend and plus one Felicity Smoak."

"I was wondering where you were going with that," Felicity murmured. It was a perfectly acceptable introduction and certainly not untrue, though it just scratched the surface, which also was perfectly acceptable, all things considered.

So…his political advisor, who helped him formulate his speech for the night also had designs on him. Did he even notice?

"You better be warming up for that Q & A session, Oliver. You know Kolby or Williams will be asking about this." Her words were innocuous enough, but Stella practically purred. She looked to Felicity. "My apologies, Felicity. It's an inside joke. It's nice to meet you. Will we be seeing more of you around the mayor's office?" Stella left little doubt that she was staking her claim.

Felicity's eyes narrowed. "I guess that depends on if I left any packages there." She tilted her head knowingly. Message sent.

The other woman's eyes hardened. Message received.

 _So much for not saying anything._

Oliver caught the tension between the two women. Felicity smiled to Oliver. "Sorry. Inside joke."

"I'll see you at City Hall, Mayor. Nice…," Stella hesitated before adding, "speech." Her eyes lingered on Oliver before she sauntered away, head held high.

"She's awful," Felicity whispered. "I know I shouldn't say that when, I mean, we're here at function for a woman's organization, and there's seriously a special place in hell for women who don't support other women, but...eww." She shuddered, thought for a moment, and added, "Wow. That sounded so bitchy. I don't even like that term, and I'm using it. Maybe I should call it catty. Same difference. But then there is a big difference between dogs and cats and, come to think of it even after all this time, I don't even know if you're a cat person or a dog person, and—"

"Felicity?"

"Hmm?"

"Deep breath." Oliver looked at her, his expression a mixture of incredulity and amusement. "What was _that?_ You two just met."

"I've always been told that my sense of humor is my best feature. Well, that and my a-" She stopped short of mentioning her rear and huffed out a laugh, "It's certainly not my filter."

"So…a quarter for your thoughts?"

"I thought the expression is 'a penny for your thoughts.'"

"Consider it inflation. I can't really impress a former CEO by offering a penny, now can I?" Oliver's lips quirked.

"From one former…," _fiancée_ , "CEO…to another, please promise me something."

"Anything," he replied without hesitation.

"Don't take her at face value because I'm pretty sure she's got more than one face." She had the little crinkle between her eyebrows that he felt the urge to rub away. He resisted. Was Felicity jealous of Stella Sinclair? He hadn't even considered Stella in anything other than a professional capacity. Even in that capacity, she was a pain in his ass.

"Guard's up," he assured her.

Felicity nodded slightly, though the crinkle did not fully fade. She seemed to be ruminating over something more.

Oliver looked around. The festivities were starting to die down. "Do you want to head out of here? Maybe get some ice cream?"

She hesitated. "That sounds dangerously like a date."

He smiled at her. "One could make the argument we're already on a date. You are, after all, my plus one."

"So I am."

"Consider it a change of venue. We could sit at the park, just enjoy the night. Two old friends. Doesn't have to mean anything you don't want it to mean."

"Mint chip?"

"Is there any other kind?"

She patted his shoulder, and warmth spread throughout him. "You always did know how to placate me." She spoke flippantly, but her statement was a double-edged sword—a compliment and a condemnation. He knew her better than anyone. He had hurt her worse than anyone.

 _We have to let each other go._

And maybe they would.

Just not tonight. Not tonight.

Tonight he would hold on to whatever pieces of herself she was willing to give.


End file.
